


Keep on Haunting Me

by cantthinkofausername_B_Pike



Series: Summer of Gotham [2]
Category: Batman - All Media Types, Gotham (TV)
Genre: Angst, F/M, Future Fic, M/M, Songfic, aka it's a clusterfuck, it's Haunting by Halsey, joker is ridiculous and Extra, so future!jeremiah is a blend of canon jeremiah and heath ledger's joker and the comics joker
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-06-28
Updated: 2018-06-28
Packaged: 2019-05-29 22:02:11
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,875
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15082649
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cantthinkofausername_B_Pike/pseuds/cantthinkofausername_B_Pike
Summary: Five years after the events of Gotham, the Joker is holding up a bar owned by Bruce Wayne. When Batman arrives to arrest him, he finds a lot less fighting and a lot more drama than he had expected.(aka Joker doesn't know how to deal with Feelings TM and Bruce moved on a long time ago.)





	Keep on Haunting Me

**Author's Note:**

> This was written for Summer of Gotham week 3: Future Fic. Yes, I realize it is the end of week 4 today, but it doesn't matter. deadlines are arbitrary.  
> if you have not heard the song Haunting by Halsey, go listen to it! the fic is improved if you start listening to it when Joker starts playing it, but this decision is completely optional. it can also be read by someone who has never heard the song. lyrics are in italics.

Bruce Wayne had created the Batman to rid his city of its evil. “Become Gotham’s dark knight,” Ra’s al Ghul had hissed as he disintegrated. “Gotham needs a savior,” Jeremiah had echoed.

Over the years, Batman had failed to save the city. He held it back from the brink, but each day dawned just as precariously close to the edge as the previous. The Batman had fought the worst of the worst, the craziest Gotham had to offer. The Scarecrow, the Riddler, the Mad Hatter, and countless more. Bruce Wayne worked to improve the city legally and prevent its citizens from turning to crime. Together with his growing batfamily, the tide seemed to be turning. 

Until one of the Rogues broke out of Arkham untreated and sent the city spiraling back.

Earlier that afternoon, a single black rose and a playing card had been left on the steps of Wayne Manor. It hadn’t been a Joker card, but it didn’t need to be. Bruce knew who the flower was from, and he knew what it meant. 

Someone would die tonight.

The news had long ago stopped making a fuss over which rogue broke out of Arkham. On the day of the breakout, it was front page news, but afterwards it became a mere afterthought. Gotham Gazette, Page 8: Rogues Currently Active. 

_He_ had escaped, for what must be the twentieth time, a week or so ago. 

Sometimes, Bruce thought he wanted to get caught. Or, not get caught, as he clearly had no interest in remaining in custody or receiving therapy. Bruce thought he wanted to nearly be caught, to remain at the scene just long enough to see Batman arrive. After all, wasn’t that the joke?

Tonight, he was holding up a club. It wasn’t a particularly popular club, and it certainly wouldn’t get him much money, but that wasn’t the point. It was one Bruce owned, and that was what mattered.

Bruce parked his motorcycle in a back alley and quickly scaled the building. After entering through a third-floor fire escape, he snuck through the dingy offices to perch in the club’s rafters. Cape fluttering around him, he surveyed the room. This club had none of the Diamond District flair of the Penguin’s Iceberg Lounge or its competitor, the Sirens. Here on the edge of the Narrows, something so fancy would immediately be distrusted. And so, Bruce had neglected to change any of the décor when he had quietly purchased the business from its previous owner. Instead, it mirrored its surroundings – dingy boards, paint that might have been an identifiable color a decade previously, and an honest-to-God coin-operated jukebox against a wall. All the crowds here cared about was the availability of booze and the opportunity to forget, which he happily provided.

Tonight’s club-goers were having a distinctly unpleasant time. The speakers, which usually provided music able to be clearly heard a block away, were silent. Someone’s drink had been upended and flowed down the bar. A knife pinned the bartender’s hand in the middle of the mess, blood mixing with the alcohol. The strobe lights were still on, flashing across the faces of the terrified patrons frozen on the dance floor. In the middle of it all, he stood on the bar, confident as ever.

In the five years since they had first met, Bruce had thought he had witnessed him hit rock bottom more times than he could count. Every time, he was wrong. After he had won, isolated the city and forced Bruce to take up the title of Batman, he had stopped trying to separate himself from his brother. He adopted Jerome’s haunting laugh, his theatrical chaos. At some point, he appeared with scars mirroring Jerome’s around his mouth. Bruce wasn’t certain he knew how he had acquired them.

When Bruce’s eyes landed on him, he jumped up from the barstool he had balanced on the bar and began to pace. 

“Ladies and gentlemen! And anyone else present. It appears our guest of honor has arrived!”

The hostages nervously glanced around the room, looking for any changes. No doubt they thought he was crazy. He was, but he was right about this one thing. The Batman had arrived.

He jumped off the bar, coat flaring behind him. For a brief second, Bruce saw Jerome at his circus, spinning around so his red ringmaster coat would catch the wind. The memory quickly faded and Bruce refocused on Jeremiah. No, not Jeremiah. That was the boy he had worked with, built with, flirted with when he was a kid. This person before him, the grinning maniac, was the Joker. He had become Joker in that graveyard, standing before his brother’s corpse. Bruce simply hadn’t realized it soon enough.

Joker sauntered over to the old jukebox, flipped a quarter into the coin slot, and pressed play. 

_Bang. Bang._

The eerie opening notes of the song were partially obscured by the sound of the Joker’s gunshots. 

_Bang. Bang._

He had pulled a gun from the inside of his jacket and shot it with surgical precision.

_Bang. Bang._

The bullet holes formed the shape of a bat.

“Why don’t you come down from that rafter, Bats?” Joker looked Bruce in the eye. “We all know you’re there.”

Bruce’s cape rustled around him as he dropped from the ceiling. The unfortunate patrons of the bar huddled closer together in fear.

“Why are you doing this?”

Joker cocked his head to the side. Around them, the singer crooned the opening line. _“I was as pure as a river,”_ she sang, _“and now I think I’m possessed.”_ His face split open in a deranged smile, but his eyes still sparkled with cold intelligence.

 _“You put a fever inside me, and I’ve been cold since you left.”_ Joker mouthed the words as they played through the club’s speakers. “Why do you think?”

Bruce didn’t know. He never truly knew why the Joker did anything aside from pure entertainment. Clearly, this was meant to send a message, but what was he trying to say?

 _“I’ve got a boyfriend now, and he’s made of gold,”_ the song continued. _“And you’ve got your own mistakes in a bed at home.”_

What was that supposed to mean? Joker didn’t – he _couldn’t_ – so was this line not the one he was supposed to notice? Was he talking about Bruce’s relationship with Selina? Because that was certainly not a mistake; they were about to be married, and he had never been happier.

Joker started lip-synching again with the next line. _“And I’m hoping you could save me now, but you break and fold.”_ But Bruce had tried to save him, so many times. 

_“You’ve got a fire inside, but your heart’s so cold.”_ Here, Joker strolled up to him and poked him in the left shoulder, hard enough that he almost rocked backwards. “I’ve got a playlist for you, Bats. This one is just the beginning.”

“Have you been planning this with Riddler?” Bruce asked. “This seems much closer to his style than yours.” 

“Don’t try to put me in a box. It won’t work.” Joker laughed, a short burst of humor that seemed to have been unwillingly dragged from his chest. “I am chaos, and chaos is everything.”

“Please, let me help you.” Bruce reached out cautiously. 

Behind him, the song kept playing. _“Cause I’ve done some things that I can’t speak.”_

“Help me? Like when you tried to kill me? You made me. Face it.”

_“And I’ve tried to wash you away, but you just won’t leave.”_

And that was true, wasn’t it? No matter how many times Bruce tried to help Joker, or Joker tried to kill the Batman, they couldn’t escape this crazy cycle they were trapped in.

 _“So won’t you take a breath and dive in deep,”_ the song continued, _“because I came here so you’d come for me.”_

“I know who you are under that mask. I always have. But me? You have no idea who I am.”

“I know you. We made each other, remember?” Sometimes, when Joker got like this, Bruce could almost see him as the scared boy in the bunker. Someone that he could still save.

“No, no, no, Batsy. You may know my name, but you of all people should know that a person is more than just a name.” The manic light reappeared, drowning out all traces of the person he had once been.

 _“I’m begging you to keep on haunting me,”_ the song repeated.

“We are who we have decided to be,” Bruce agreed.

“I’m glad you understand.”

“But why did you decide to be a supervillain that never wins?” After all, at the end of the day, the Batman always caught the Joker and returned him to Arkham.

“Oh, I always win.”

“We must have different definitions of winning.”

_“I know you’re gonna keep on haunting me.”_

“We must.”

 

The Joker thought tonight was going very well indeed. Batman had come, just as he had known he would. Bruce never could leave him. Best of all, he had an audience for his spectacle.

Behind them, the chorus faded out into the second verse. _“We walk as tall as the skyline, and we have roots like the trees.”_ Surely, Bruce knew what he meant. It was plain as day. Then again, Bruce never seemed to know.

He used to, years ago. Back when it had been them against the world, against a city going mad. But what was madness, really, but an excess of truth? And the Joker had seen the truth. It had been his brother’s final gift.

He would make Bruce see the truth. That laws were meaningless, a restriction only on imagination and creativity. That the world order was a machine to destroy the minds of its inhabitants. Or perhaps he already had?

_“But your eyes start to wander, ‘cause they weren’t looking at me. You weren’t looking for me.”_

Joker made sure his eyes never wandered from Bruce’s. He sent the message, but did Bruce receive it?

“We can’t go back. We aren’t those people anymore.”

He did. Behind them, the chorus began again.

“We could have had a good thing. But you just had to go and be a hero.”

“I’m not the one who changed,” Bruce said with a sad smile. “Let me help you.”

“What fun is that?” He laughed, long and loud and utterly unhinged.

_“I’m begging you to keep on haunting me,” the song repeated._

“We’re destined to do this forever, you and me,” Joker said, voice low. “Around and around in circles we go. I can never outrun you, and you can never catch me.”

“Joker.” Bruce sighed. “What is your point.”

The song was almost over. It was time to go.

“You once told me I had a brilliant mind. Well, answer me this, Batman. Given that the hero is always victorious and that the entropy of the universe is always increasing, which one of us wins in the end?” Joker blew Batman a kiss as he left the bar. Behind him, the Bat stood, frozen, in the middle of the dance floor, bright strobe lights reflecting off him and the patrons. 

When Joker turned around, the Batman was gone.

**Author's Note:**

> if you read that "you have no idea who I am" line in Cate Blanchett's Hela voice, it becomes 1000x funnier.  
> please validate me! comments and kudos make my day! also if you want to ramble about batjokes with me, I'm on tumblr @alpacasandravens


End file.
